The sun’s rising and there’s a plane waiting. Direct flight to anywhere.
I don’t have to see the rotting rafters. I don’t have to feel the cars roaring past the paper-thin wall.
I just close my eyes and think of the plane.
Red-orange light shines over the black runway. I get on the plane and we start to move.
Faster. Faster. Past buildings, past grass, past trees.
Past clouds. Past sky.
The whole world is spread out like a map below. I can go anywhere.
A car alarm goes off, but I don’t hear it.
I’m on the plane.
Word Count: 100
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rocelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Rich Voza for the prompt photo!